Too Late For His Empty Regret

Audrey POV:

The air in the ballroom was thick with the scent of lilies and expensive champagne. My head pounded. The gown Maria had dressed me in was a cruel joke. It was a slinky, form-fitting dress, the kind I used to wear before pregnancy. Now, it clung to every curve, highlighting my still-soft stomach, the faint stretch marks a painful roadmap across my skin.

The cream, that insidious cream Ethan had forced on me, made my skin itch and burn. It was a constant, agonizing reminder of his cruelty. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the discomfort away.

Whispers started. They zipped through the crowd like venomous darts. "Is that Audrey Fox? Goodness, she's let herself go." "Look at her next to Kendall. No comparison." "Poor Ethan, carrying that for so long."

The words sliced at me, each one a fresh wound. They compared me to Kendall, her taut, unblemished figure, her glowing perfection. They talked about Ethan, the "suffering" husband, the one who deserved better. The shame was a suffocating blanket, pressing me down, crushing the last vestiges of my dignity.

I tried to melt into the shadows, to escape the searing gaze of the crowd. But Ethan's hand, cold and firm, clamped around my arm. "Don't you dare," he hissed, his grip bruising. "You will stand here, Audrey. You will smile. This is Kendall's night, and you will play your part." His eyes were like chips of ice.

He paraded me around, a trophy of his betrayal, a living testament to his supposed magnanimity. I was the backdrop, the foil against which Kendall' s brilliance was meant to shine.

On the stage, under a spotlight, Ethan announced a massive gift for Kendall: a significant share in Blake Enterprises, making her a formidable player in the company. The crowd applauded wildly. Then, he presented her with a diamond necklace, a delicate piece of art that I had admired in a magazine just months ago, mentioning how much I loved its unique design. He had remembered. But not for me.

"Kendall and I," he announced, his voice booming with affection, "will share all our triumphs, all our successes. She is not just my colleague, but my partner in life, in ambition." He squeezed her hand, his eyes filled with an adoration that had once been mine.

He then looked at me, a cold, empty gaze. "Audrey," he said, his voice flat, "she runs the household. Kendall runs the company. Everyone has their place. And it works perfectly."

The whispers started again, louder now, laced with pity and thinly veiled contempt. Everyone knew. Everyone saw. I was a cuckolded wife, publicly humiliated, and discarded. My face felt bloodless, my hands clenched so tight my nails dug into my palms, the sharp pain a welcome distraction from the agony in my heart.

Ethan and Kendall drifted away, surrounded by fawning admirers. I slipped into a quiet alcove, needing to escape the suffocating air, the judgmental eyes. The fever, forgotten for a moment in the torrent of humiliation, surged back. My body ached, the burning itch of the cream intensifying. My head spun. I leaned against a cold wall, the darkness swallowing me whole.

I drifted in and out of consciousness. Through the haze, I heard Ethan's voice. Gentle. Concerned. He was there. He was wiping my forehead with a cool cloth. "Audrey," he murmured, "you're burning up."

My body instinctively leaned into his touch, seeking the comfort I so desperately craved. Just for a second, I imagined everything was alright. That he was still my Ethan.

Then, Kendall's voice, husky and breathy, broke the illusion. "Is she asleep?"

"Out cold," Ethan chuckled, his voice losing all traces of concern, replaced by a casual indifference. "Good. She won't know we're here." The rustling of clothes. A soft moan. The unmistakable sounds of intimacy. They were doing it. Right here. While I lay unconscious.

My blood turned to ice. My mind screamed. No! Wake up! Get up and hit them! But my limbs were heavy, unresponsive. My body was trapped in this agonizing limbo, forced to bear witness to the ultimate betrayal.

A short while later, I felt Ethan' s arms scoop me up. His touch, which had once been a source of safety, now felt invasive, disgusting. He carried me, my limp body a burden. "Ready to go home, darling?" he crooned, his voice light, filled with a sickening contentment.

The sweet, cloying scent of Kendall' s perfume clung to him, a tangible reminder of their act. My stomach churned. I pushed against his chest, a guttural sound escaping my lips. "No," I rasped, my voice barely a whisper. "Take me… take me to my parents' house. My home."

Ethan' s footsteps, which had been light and cheerful, faltered. He stopped dead.